All in a Day's Work
by Imalkikal
Summary: It is 1940, and France has just been taken over by Germany. Prussia, of course, can't let his little brother have all the fun. M for intense violence.


**A/N: **This is Prussia's side of Saja Natalia's fic "A Descent into Hell," told by France and found here: http:/ www . fanfiction . net/ s/ 6462233 /1 /A_Descent_into_Hell

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The room was a dark blue, spacious, with a desk. On the desk laid a map with places circled and lines drawn every which way. Battle plans. This was_ his_ room. In _his_ house. He didn't care what his good for nothing brother said. He was still Prussia, dammit! Said country looked up, suddenly aware of his brother's absence.

"Oh…that's right…" he muttered aloud to himself. "West said something about attacking someone…" Prussia shrugged. "What the fuck do I care? He's a bastard anyway…although I do love a good fight…maybe I'll see what that _Arschloch_ is up to." Slowly, the militaristic nation pushed himself up off of the comfortable chair he was sitting in and stretched. Then, he made his way out the door and onto the war torn fields of Europe.

He found his way to France's house. Somehow he knew that's where Germany said he would be. The doors were kicked open. He heard some thuds and grew interested. A fight? He wanted in. The Axis had been winning a good number of battles recently, which put Prussia in a good mood. He couldn't really feel an allegiance to the Axis, considering he was forced to join them, but he sure as hell didn't sympathize with the Allies. He hated them both. He hated everyone and everything. All he needed was something to take his anger out on.

And he found it. On the ground by his feet was the blond Frenchman he once called his friend. Smirking, he picked him up by his precious, golden locks. He looked him over. It looked like his brother had done a number on him. His smirk grew as he thought of how he could make the country's suffering even worse.

France looked up at him, blue meeting red. A feral grin took over his face as he squatted down to examine him. He looked different than what he remembered…he looked like fun to play with. He'd become so bored these days.

"Oi, Bruder!" He called to the other blond standing in the room, never taking his eyes off of the Frenchman. "Was haben wir hier?"

"Müll," Germany said in a monotone, eyeing France with hatred. Prussia liked that look. It meant that he could do with him what he wanted. "Du kannst ihn wegtragen. Wir brauchen ihn nicht." Just as he thought. Kesese~

"Wirklich? Ein Geschenk?" he grinned at his brother, just to be sure. Of course, he knew the answer. France was his now. There was a nod. "Danke, Bruder." Germany left them alone and Prussia threw his 'present' on the ground. He circled the other man, the grin never leaving his face. Oh, the things he could do…the things he _would_ do…

"Wie geht's, Frankreich?" he asked _cordially_. "Bist du wohl?" He wouldn't be for long. He crouched down close to the other nation, toying with his lovely hair. He thought it would look better on fire. "Deutschland sagt, dass du bist mein. Möchtest du mit mich spielen? Ich weiß viele Spielen." He smirked. He loved getting new playthings. He always broke them, though.

A moment passed in silence. Prussia frowned. He asked a question. Quite politely if he said so himself. Why the fuck wasn't he answering the great and awesome him? "Was? Werdest du nicht sprechen?" He glared at the Frenchman, releasing his hair. "Das ist unglaublich!" He aimed a kick at the other's abdomen. His foot connected and France doubled over in pain. He smirked. Damn, that felt good. "Ich habe, dass wir sind Freunde geglaubt!" Prussia yelled, taunting his victim. He kicked him while he was down…and again…and again…He watched France skid across the floor, a trail of blood following him. Ahh, how he loved that color. It matched his eyes. France coughed up more blood. This only made Prussia happier. Knowing he had caused damage to the other man's internal organs brought him immense joy…but something was missing…

"Schrei!" he commanded. He noticed France's futile attempt to crawl away. The Prussian marched over to him, and seized his arm. He pulled him up and roughly threw him over his shoulder in one swift, easy motion. He smirked knowing that the arm was probably useless and dislocated. Kesese~ However, the beaten nation had not screamed, yelled, or begged for his life yet. And that disappointed Prussia. France had hit the wall hard and fell to the floor. Prussia walked up to him, drawing his gun.

"Warum schreist du nicht?" he yelled, clearly agitated. He shot the Frenchman in the thigh. The blond tried to cover up the wound with his hands to stop the bleeding. What an idiot. Prussia tore his hands away and dug one of his own gloved fingers inside of it. It was warm and wet…and wonderful. He tore at the other's flesh, making the small wound far worse. France screamed. Prussia grinned, finally getting what he wanted, but frowned once again when the Frenchman tried clawing at his hand, trying to do something, _anything_, to get him to stop. Never.

He stomped on France's hand with the heel of his boot, crushing the bones. "Fass mich nicht an!" The beaten man whimpered, cradling his broken hand. Prussia smirked at his work. France's left arm seemed to sag from its proper place and his right hand bore no structure. Blood gushed from the wound on his leg, but Prussia was not yet satisfied.

"Pr-Pru…" the Frenchman began to mutter. Prussia snapped to attention at the sound of his name and narrowed his eyes. This worm _dared_ to call out to him? He seized him roughly by the hair.

"Sag meinen Name nicht. Du bist nicht gut genug!" He spat in the blonde's eye, becoming angrier with the nation that just wouldn't break. He would fix that. With no restraint, he drove his knee into France's groin. He vomited, his stomach's contents stained with blood. Prussia became furious. Such a pitiful reaction! He threw his victim to the ground. The second he hit it, the greater nation began pummeling him with kick after kick after kick.

"Warum-" Kick. "bist-" Kick. "du-" Kick. "sehr-" Kick. "schwach?" Kick. Punch. Grab.

He would end this game very soon. He was growing bored. Prussia picked France up by his dislocated arm and pulled a knife from his boot. He drew the blade down the length of the Frenchman's torso. He screamed. Prussia grinned. _That_ was what he was looking for.

The blood from the wound spewed out at Prussia, but he could care less. He thrust his hand into the wound, looking for something. He dug around in the other's torso, ripping at flesh and muscle. And then he found what he was looking for. Crack. The albino grinned as he took out two bones from his victim's ribcage. Cackling, he threw one of the bones to the floor. The other, he kept. A prize.

He looked at France's beaten form crumpled on the floor. He was finally unconscious. Prussia decided that the game was over. For now. They could always play again some other time.

Leaving the room, he licked the Frenchman's blood off of his gloved fingers. All in a day's work.

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**Translations:**

Prussia: Hey, brother! What do we have here?

Germany: Trash. You can take it out. We don't need it.

Prussia: Really? A gift? Thank you, brother.

Prussia: How are you, France? Are you well? Germany says that you're mine. Would you like to play with me? I know many games.

Prussia: What? Are you not going to speak? That's unbelievable! (kick) I thought that we were friends! (kick, kick, kick) Scream! (throws him) Why don't you scream? (tears his flesh and stomps on him) Don't touch me!

Prussia: (picks him up) Don't say my name! You aren't good enough!

Prussia: Why (kick) are (kick) you (kick) so (kick) weak?


End file.
